


the greatest of these

by NODIGNITY



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Depersonalization, Derealization, Dissociation, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, Identity Issues, M/M, Memory Issues, Past Brainwashing, don't get your hopes up too much there's only mild hugging and kissing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-17 07:45:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9312137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NODIGNITY/pseuds/NODIGNITY
Summary: For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face; now I know in part, but then I will know fully just as I also have been fully known.(brain problems vent fic)





	

**Author's Note:**

> actual summary: Kaz crying and yelling, Ocelot going "you call that manipulation?? now THIS is manipulation", my sickbrains ass being all "same feel? same feel..." at Punished "Venom" "Ahab" "Big Boss?" Snake, hamfisted literary/mythological/biblical allusions because Metal Gear
> 
> hey i'm NODIGNITY and after plinking away at this for over a literal full calendar year i'm here to tell you that being gay and mentally ill is really cool, despite what this fic might imply. the timeline here may not exactly jive with what's presented in-game, but time is an illusion and all feelings are fake, actually ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

**a.** pinocchio  & geppetto in the belly of the whale

"-- _thank you, my friend. From here on out, you're_ \--"

The cassette player hisses gently as the tape rolls to an end. 

He glances up into the mirror hanging in front of him. The reflection shining back is him--of course it is, how could it not be--but not at all at the same time.

He looks again. The copper and salt tracks of dried blood and tears staining his skin barely warrant any attention. The scars and pits and stitches traversing his face, that demon's horn jutting from his forehead, the scarlet hand examining all of these features that he's gotten used to as a matter of course; he looks past all that, actually _looks_ at the image presenting itself in the mirror--it suddenly aches in its unfamiliarity. 

He's not who he used to be, not anymore; that man is apparently dead and long buried under whatever they said they did to him in that hospital for nearly a decade. And it had been becoming clearer and clearer by the day that he's not quite Big Boss, either; everything had already been starting to fray and unravel at the edges until this unassuming cassette tape yanked at all the threads, hard, unmasking an awkwardly constructed homunculus underneath it all. Only a blurry phantom, an effigy, a stranger wearing another's skin. 

A stranger occupying another's mind, too.

Ocelot had told him that it wasn't unusual for coma patients to experience certain-- _symptoms_ once they had awakened; the shrapnel lodged in his head and the aftereffects of surviving such a huge blast in itself didn't help matters, either. These all explained why his brain didn't work the way it was supposed to...the way it used to. Ocelot had also told him not to worry too much about it, either.

But now, he almost wonders, perhaps this is why things have felt slightly off ever since his awakening. Like how whenever he's not on the battlefield, everything seems like he's looking through a dark pane of glass or from behind a screen, as if he's perpetually peering into Room 101 watching events happen to somebody else. How more often than not, every sight, sound, and sensation feels too sharp, too much, yet it all just slides off his brain like water off oilskin at the same time. How when he opens his mouth to speak there's the occasional overwhelming suspicion that he's reading from an unknown script hidden deep in some tightly locked corner of his mind, and trying to say anything else is just so, so, so _difficult_.

(Or, maybe, was Big Boss always like this? Was _he_ always--)

And now there's a strange, pulsing floatiness radiating through this body that is his but isn't; he's felt this sensation before, half out of his mind from exhaustion in the ACC, but never this intensely or for so long. He knows that the water from the sink he splashes on his face is cold, but he can't feel it. He tries to fight through the fog filling his brain, gauzy and suffocating, heavy and empty all at once, to focus on something. Anything. He can only vaguely register the figure of Big Boss making the journey across Mother Base, step by step.

He finds himself in front of the door to Kaz's quarters, led there by something unnervingly dissimilar from instinct. Is he in? Does he know? Snake's hand alights on the knob, turns, pushes.

"So, you know the truth now."

Kaz's voice calls out, almost accusatory, from the yawning darkness. The frigid light shining in from the doorway stretches out into a long, distorted mouth that barely illuminates the man sitting at his desk.

"Ocelot just told me...they were keeping me in the dark, too. I had no idea, no goddamn idea what kind of lies they've been feeding us this entire time," Kaz's words start to trip over themselves, his clipped and cold tone dipping ungracefully into breathy, near-hysterical muttering, "I was right. I was right, wasn't I? Of fucking course there would be wolves pulling the wool over our eyes, and they were here among us all along, standing right next to us, pretending everything was..."

Snake doesn't answer; he just lets the door close behind him, just stands there, staring. As his vision adjusts to the darkness, the features and landmarks of the room display themselves to him as broad, flat patchwork. He can see Kaz's hand on the desk, tensing tightly into the perfect circumference for a man's neck.

Kaz finally stands up, shedding his sunglasses, but he still doesn't look at the figure that just awkwardly shambled in through his doorway.

"Well?"

The acrid bite of Kaz's voice shakes Snake just the slightest bit from his haze, but he still can't will any words to form. What would he even say? Why is he even here in the first place? He feels his teeth coming down against the inside of his cheek, but the pain there doesn't help him at all.

The burnt-out suns that are Kaz's eyes squint painfully at the pair of shades in his hand, like he's willing them to combust. He eventually sets them on the desk and starts making his way over to Snake, each tap of his cane against the floor punctuating his invective.

"Don't even think about telling me that it was a necessary evil, just a means to an end. Doesn't it hurt? To find out that everyone you thought you trusted was just lying to you? All the time you spent together, everything you thought you were fighting for was just fucking nothing in the end..." Kaz looks and sounds just completely, totally drained, like he's running on pure vindictiveness now more than ever. "Doesn't it--doesn't it _hurt_ to find out that your very existence itself is a lie?"

And maybe the truth should have hurt, should have rent Snake apart like lightning striking an old, dead tree, flinging shards of rotting wood every which way. The idea of it definitely stings in the more reasoning parts of his mind, the parts telling his emotions that he's supposed to feel this pain beyond pain, but--it doesn't hurt, for some reason. Not really, and certainly not as much as Kaz evidently thinks it should. 

The truth is, Snake feels Kaz's pain much more acutely than his own, has always felt it ever since he first laid eyes on him, chained-up and battered in Afghanistan. Long before that, probably. Kaz, whose every intake of breath burns fiery with offense and betrayal, every word ground up between gritted teeth and spat out like a curse, blood roiling and threatening to spill over at any moment--Kaz is dear to him in ways he can't articulate, can't fathom, it feels like such a given, and--

The truth is that right now, seeing Kaz so twisted up and flayed open like this, Snake isn't giving any thought to the pain-that-should-have-been; through the veil of numbness and fog there's a kind of terror scratching at his heart, that he only cares about Kaz because he's supposed to. Because Big Boss is supposed to. 

" _Well_? Aren't you going to say anything?" His XO is standing in front of him now, but his voice rings out across the room even as it cracks. 

Snake's body moves forward to embrace him, automatically. "Kaz," he sighs; the man tenses up rigid as a board at the hug, winds himself up even tighter at the name. "I'm sorry," the words tumble out unbidden from Snake's mouth--strange, considering how much effort it usually takes for him to find words at all (nowadays? always?), and he can feel Kaz start to shake in his arms.

"What the hell are _you_ sorry for..."

"I don't know...I'm sorry you got hurt. I'm sorry that I'm not him," Snake says. The tension in Kaz's body is still coiled up tight, but he's not on the verge of boiling over anymore. There are hot tears starting to soak through Snake's fatigues at his shoulder. 

"You're not the one at fault," Kaz barely whispers after some time, but Snake can't tell how long it's been. "It's not like you knew about any of this, did you." His voice is trying very hard to immure any trace of emotion away behind a brick wall, in spite of the tears. The very picture of the composed and professional XO of Diamond Dogs, cool and untouchable in the face of crisis. He extricates himself from Snake's arms, still unwilling to let their eyes meet. "...what are you going to do now?" he asks.

The question sinks through Snake like a lead weight. What was he going to do now, with this revelation? Would he accept it, going through the motions of being Big Boss, until--until what? Diamond Dogs, Mother Base, Kaz's (and his, or Big Boss's) ambitions are suddenly beyond his comprehension. He hears in the back of his mind a tinny, fuzzy recording--there's a dull realization that it's his own voice, his own words-- _We're fighting for the future--plant your roots in me_ \--he knows he said these things, but he can't remember or understand.

Kaz's eyebrows crease together in growing discomfort, or maybe frustration, at Snake's heavy silence. "Look, maybe you were...created to chase Big Boss's dreams, but it doesn't have to be like that," he says, flat and blunted. "You're not just some puppet; you were your own person. You still are. You can make your own choices. You don't...you don't have to listen to any of us anymore."

"Kaz..." Snake stares at the one thing that he thought he could actually hold onto, the one person he could always count on to guide him through any storm. But Kaz has no answers for him, and Snake has even less to give in return. There's nothing else to do but leave, he supposes, and turns back towards the door. His own footfalls sound so distant even in the suffocating stillness of the room, the sensation of every step slipping just beyond his mind's grasp.

"Wait," Kaz calls out, and he seems startled by the sound of his own voice, saying that word. "Wait," he says again, softer but hoarser, "don't...don't leave."

And Snake feels himself being pulled back by that. He's standing in front of Kaz again, just as close as before, but the distance stretches and lurches and reels before his vision. 

Kaz is the one to bridge the gap, this time. Snake hears a quiet but sharp intake of breath as their bodies meet, and feels Kaz wincing even as his forehead gingerly comes to rest on Snake's shoulder. 

It used to come as natural as breathing, being physically close to Kaz like this: wrapping a steady arm around him for support, feeling his hot breath against his face when they talked...now their bodies fit together stiff and awkward like wooden joints swollen and warped by water, eaten away by the salt of the sea.

All Snake can manage to do is focus on him, listening to his heartbeat and the shaky rhythm of his inhales and exhales. He tries to concentrate on the space Kaz occupies in this world, in his memories, and in his heart. He needs to know if his feelings are anything more substantial than a thin coat of paint prettying up this--whatever he is, whatever they've made him into.

"Do you...remember anything? From before?" Kaz whispers tentatively.

Try as Snake might, there's nothing but a blur of vague, barely formed impressions (hands, two real ones, expertly threading a needle through flesh; warm sun and cold salt air hitting his face as a man drapes an arm around him, posing for a photo; watching a prone, unmoving figure being wheeled away as harsh lights nearly blind him) floating up in his mind. Like recalling a dream from long ago that's been muddled by a sleepy memory and the passage of time. Maybe they were nothing but dreams in the first place; they might as well be for all the good they do him now. It half-occurs to him that for all he knows, he could still be wasting away in a hospital bed in Dhekelia. Or worse.

Snake finally mumbles in the negative, "I don't know."

When was he born? Where was he from? What kind of childhood did he have, what did his parents look like? What led him to the life of a soldier in the first place, fighting under the banner of MSF and Big Boss? How did--

How did he and Kaz meet?

Snake knows the bare facts of when he--when Big Boss and Kaz first encountered each other: 1972, Colombia, a battle with Kaz's life and pride on the line; but nothing else comes to mind besides that cheap film reel playing someone else's life story in his head. 

It's so strange, how it had never occurred to him to think about these things. 

"...I asked because I...can't help but remember the other week, when you were calling in from a mission," Kaz starts, verging on rambling, and he sounds so far away even though he's right there in Snake's arms, "and you called me-- _Commander Miller_ , not Kaz, like it was so... _natural_ for you, and at the time I thought it was because it was radio interference, or that the stress was making me mishear things, or maybe you were making a bad joke, or..." Snake feels him heave a sigh. "I should've...I should've known, should have suspected something even from the start when Zero of all people was involved...but it looks like I'm just a fucking idiot, always, always, always..."

There's a vague stirring in Snake's mind; 'Commander Miller' doesn't feel unfamiliar in his mouth, but he can't recall it ever leaving his lips. "I'm sorry," he says again, though he's not sure why.

Kaz's body moves like he's going to say something in response, but he stops himself. They fall into a long silence once more. The shadows of the room pulsate and fuzz in time with Snake's heartbeat, in lieu of the steady tick-tick-tick of a clock. Hours must have passed since Snake first entered the room, he thinks.

"You were..." Kaz eventually whispers, "you must have been in the hospital in Cuba after what happened nine years ago, but I--they were putting me under so many drugs back then, I can't..." his voice takes a sharp, bitter turn, "I can't remember thinking about anything other than _him_."

Snake closes his eye and lets his head rest heavy on Kaz's shoulder. Fragments of every single hospital visit in his life start blurring together in his memory thick and slurry-like: Dhekelia, Cuba, and before that...

It seems like Kaz can barely recall who he was before. That's fine, Snake supposes, since he can't either. He wonders if the memories and experiences of his past life could even be considered his own anymore; the glimpses of whatever he can sift from the muddy silt feel as foreign and unwelcome in his mind as nearly everything else. Except:

The heft of a gun in his hands, heart pounding in his chest as bullets whistle past, the satisfying snap of bone and gristle, and--

Did Big Boss ever hold Kaz like this? Did Kaz ever let Big Boss see him cry? They must have been tender with each other, he thinks, the evidence is carved out so clearly in Snake himself. He murmurs, "...did you love him?"

"It wouldn't hurt so much if I hadn't," Kaz mutters back darkly.

The words bubble over and spill out, "I love you." 

Kaz stills. The silence is cold, and his voice is even icier when he speaks at last. "What are you trying to say? That since you love me, it means Big Boss does too?"

"No...I..." Snake's brain is searching and searching in vain to find the words to describe this feeling that he can barely grab onto as it is. He tries again, "Kaz, I love you, but...I don't know if it's real, because I'm not..." _I'm not real? I'm not my own person? I'm not_ \--

Silence, again. The rise and fall of their breathing measures out the passage of time. Seconds, minutes, days, maybe.

"You're more real to me than he is," Kaz finally says, but it's unsure, like he's testing the words out and trying to convince himself into believing the lie. "And you, you care about me more than he does, more than he ever did. You were the one who saved me, and we built up Diamond Dogs together, you were the one at my side when we got our revenge, and when--on the quarantine platform, that was you too, at our men's last moments." His voice is breaking, it trails off dead and dying when he says, "You're real, and so are your feelings, your love--"

Kaz pulls their faces close; there are tears spilling from his eyes again, illuminating them even in the darkness, ghostly like things that lurk in the deep sea.

"If you really do love me, then--" he crushes their mouths together, desperate with grief and rage; it's messy and Snake can taste the salt of Kaz's tears on his lips when they break apart. " _Help me_. Help me take down Big Boss. He has to pay for what he's done. He thinks he can just use us like this, but he's got another--fucking--thing--coming." The hand gripping Snake's fatigues jerks him around roughly with every word.

"Kaz, I..."

"Our men didn't die for this; I didn't suffer for this! Losing everything and fighting my way through hell to get it back, only to end up being deceived and thrown away by that liar, that coward-- _this isn't what was supposed to happen,_ " he wails, furiously clutching Snake's collar and nearly knocking their heads together. "You must feel it, too! They took everything from you like they did with me--no, they took even more than that, didn't they? It hurts, it hurts so fucking much and you're the only one who can understand, so just--please, please, you have to..."

Snake watches Kaz slump against his chest and tilt his head up, staring expectantly. He briefly wonders what kind of expression he's making, and if Kaz can even see it. "...what are you planning?"

"For now, we bide our time. They want us to play demons on the world stage, then fine. We'll fucking do it. But sooner or later everything's going to come crashing down all around them, and I'll be damned if I--if we're not the ones to bring them down. I've been waiting nine long, painful years for revenge. I can wait a little longer."

Another go at vengeance, this time aiming at the monster who'd swallowed up so much of Kaz's life. Of his life too, Snake supposes. The prospect doesn't make him feel good, exactly, not that he can really recall what that's supposed to feel like. But it's...comfortable, familiar, letting Kaz take the reins again. _You lead and I'll follow, just like we always used to._ He draws his arms tighter around Kaz and rubs his hand, the warm one, against his back, and leans to plant a kiss against his forehead.

Kaz pulls away from that. "I can feel your pity, you know," he hisses, staring daggers. "You're thinking that I'm just flinging myself headfirst into another godforsaken revenge plot, like the pathetic, stupid joke that I am. I know that. You said you wanted me to forget the past and fight for the future, to let go of revenge, but I don't..." Kaz's hand clamps onto Snake's prosthetic arm. He can't feel it but he knows that Kaz's grip is tight like a vise, knuckles white and shaking. "I don't have anything else _left_ anymore. And neither do you."

"That's not--"

"Look at us! What did we do to deserve this? Just what did Big Boss _do_ to us?"

 

 

***

 

 

**b.** pygmalion  & galatea at the altar of aphrodite

"So, I'm taking it you've already had a listen to your special delivery, Boss?" Ocelot's voice calls out while he spares Snake a quick glance. He's sitting perched on top of his desk, giving a hefty stack of manila folders a casual lookover. "Don't look so surprised, I was the one who made sure it got here in one piece." 

The door to Ocelot's office on the Intel platform clicks behind Snake. _Go talk to Ocelot, hear what he has to fucking say for himself,_ Kaz had said, _then maybe you'll really see what we're up against here._

"How are you, Snake? Feeling alright?" Ocelot asks, like nothing's changed and Snake's just come in from an ordinary, run-of-the-mill mission for a debriefing. Kaz avoids addressing him now by name, any name, like he's stepping through a minefield; but with Ocelot, 'Boss' and 'Snake' tumble out of his mouth as free and easy as it ever did, as practiced and comfortable as if they really have known each other for twenty years. His chief intelligence officer, his friend and former rival, his savior back in Dhekelia, his--

Snake levels his gaze at Ocelot, who's still looking over the documents in his hand. The glare of white fluorescent lights shining into his eye and the fuzz of white noise whispering in his ears is almost unbearably harsh.

"You knew."

"Well, I knew and I didn't. It's a long story." Ocelot puts the papers down on the desk and motions for Snake to stand in front of him. Snake complies. "I certainly know more than, say, John--the other Big Boss. I guess I should call him Ishmael, but...y'know." He shrugs in that deliberately glib way of his.

"And I suppose if you want to get all technical about it..." Ocelot drawls out, with a flourish of his hand, "I am now the sole mastermind behind the whole _situation_ , on account of the other orchestrator being, let's say, permanently incapacitated by now." He locks eyes with Snake and drapes a hand on his arm, smile lean and long, considering Snake's reaction to his confession. His admission of guilt.

Snake tries to look within himself for the appropriate emotions to feel in response--but again, there's nothing of substance to really latch onto, almost like there's an unseen barrier smoothly deflecting his groping, searching fingers. He sees Ocelot break eye contact and look away, as if taken by a sudden flight of fancy.

"Say, you know the myth of Pygmalion, Boss? He was a sculptor living on the island of Cyprus, you know, the same place you and John were staying. He was said to have carved a statue so beautiful and realistic that he couldn't help but fall in love with it," Ocelot says as his hands reach out to Snake, fingers tracing the lines and scars of his face. "And one day he kissed his creation, and it came to life, warm and breathing as any other human being. So of course they were wed, and lived happily ever after."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"It's just a story. Kind of a foolish one at that, in my opinion."

"Foolish, because..." Snake trails off, his mind's eye blearily focusing in and out on someone standing alone in that muddled hazy darkness, "you think it was stupid of him to fall for a statue. A copy of the real thing."

Ocelot's glacier blue eyes light up with intrigue at that. "Is that what you think, Snake? No, what I mean is...there's no reason why the statue should have returned Pygmalion's love, right? Think about it. Did anybody really consider its feelings, or are we just assuming that Pygmalion, as the artist, was entitled to its devotion?" There's a curious edge to the way he asks these questions, to the slight tilt of his head and the casual grasp he has on Snake's shoulders. Ocelot is testing him, trying to draw out his true thoughts. 

"Suppose we say that the statue was grateful to him, for giving it a chance at life," Ocelot continues. "For making it human. But that doesn't exactly make sense either, does it? So because Pygmalion created this statue for his own benefit, made it solely to serve his own selfish desires, he deserves not only gratitude, but love as well? It didn't ask to be turned into a human, you know, it was just a block of stone. Unknowing. Unfeeling. Ignorant of the pains of the human world, of suffering and loss."

"You're asking me if it was worth it, living like this."

Ocelot bares his teeth with a half-chuckle. "Like I said, Snake, it's just a story."

He pats Snake's cheek and lets his lips close back into a placid smile, inviting Snake to continue his interrogation.

"Why?"

"Why what? Why did we do this? John already told you why, right?"

"I mean...why--why me?"

"Why you?" Ocelot hums back. His fingers travel to the horn of shrapnel embedded in Snake's head. "Isn't this what you wanted? You go out there right now and you ask any one of our brave men and women if they'd take a bullet for Big Boss, if they'd risk their lives to save yours--how do you think they'd answer? It was the same for you." 

Was it? Would he have? He can't remember if the him before all this really did feel that way, but if he tries...there's Paz descending into the water, the other helicopter flying into view, someone jumping in front of him--no, not him, that wasn't him yet--was he the one jumping? And then there are flashes of light, blinding white hot at first and then siren red-- _Let's let the Boss decide_ \--and he's reeling, that peculiar sense of vertigo sending waves of nausea through his body.

"Don't hurt yourself there, Snake. Trying to undo years of carefully layered hypnotherapy by force is never a pretty thing."

"But this isn't..." Snake tries to take deep gasping breaths into lungs girded tight by iron, tries to anchor himself again to this world. "This isn't just taking a bullet for the boss, this is..." His hands grip the desk on either side of Ocelot as his head pitches forward precariously close to the man's chest, trying to even fathom the question roiling in the pit of his stomach and in the deep, still-sleeping reaches of his mind. _What is Big Boss to him?_

"You said..." Snake breathes out, "you said before, that you were in love with the legend, with Big Boss..."

"I did say that, yes."

"Are you still? Is that why you're doing--all of this for him?"

Ocelot lets out a little huff of a scoff from his nostrils. "Don't be silly, Snake. I'm a grown man, I know by now that 'love' is childish. The whole idea of it is cheap, really." This kind of answer is actually surprising coming from someone Snake knows to be as sentimental and full of romantic notions as Revolver Ocelot, he thinks. "What we have--and by that, I mean what you and I have for him, is much stronger than that, isn't it? Love can be fickle, mutable...it leaves you open to betrayal," he says, with a conviction that comes more from careful observation rather than personal experience. "It's the same for romantic love, the love for one's comrades and fatherland, even the so-called unconditional love between parent and child. But _loyalty_ , the real kind, is different."

"Loyalty..." Snake's mouth murmurs, breathlessly repeating the word back to him as if in a trance.

"The Boss knew how important it was. She killed the father of her child and bid farewell to the woman she loved, all for the sake of loyalty. She abandoned her children for it. She let herself be killed, let herself go down in history as an irredeemable villain, because she was loyal to the end. The value and virtue of loyalty. That's the lesson she left behind for us." 

Snake's brain can hardly absorb the intended weight of Ocelot's words; it only feels acutely heavy and numb, like it always does when it comes to the subject of the Boss. He can just barely tell that there's something missing where it should be, should have been, and whenever he pries deeper there's nothing but a profound, headsplitting absence--the edges of which he can't even perceive. He wonders, dimly, if he should tell somebody about this, or if Big Boss is supposed to be haunted by this empty and aching echoing in his ears: _What about you? What's it going to be?_

"Quiet knew it, too." Pain jolts across Snake's rib cage like a crack of thunder at the mention of her name, but the sensation becomes muffled somewhere along the way up to his head. "Poor girl. Cut down in her prime like that, what a crying shame...but she really was one of our finest soldiers, wasn't she? She made the right choice in the end, to give up her own future so that the legend may live on.

"But Miller, he chose his own feelings," Ocelot continues. He starts carding his fingers gently through the hair at Snake's temple, familiar and affectionate like they are with D.D. The physical contact is grounding, distracting Snake from the headache and the floatiness. "He and I can pretend to get along all we want, but we've got each other's numbers, so to speak. I know what he's been saying to you. He says that we're just using you, right? That Big Boss will inevitably throw you away when he's through with you?"

Snake doesn't say anything, just leans his head into Ocelot's touch.

"But that's not true. I know this role was thrust upon you a bit...unexpectedly, Snake, but you rose to the occasion beyond our wildest expectations. We can't even begin to tell you how invaluable you are to us. And in fact, I admire you very much, in a way I don't with John." He brings his face closer to Snake's, touching their foreheads together. Snake can feel the warmth radiating from both their bodies, filling the meager space between them. 

"Giving up your past, your memories, everything that you used to be, all for someone else; there's something terribly noble, and beautiful, in such a sacrifice, wouldn't you agree? You died for him once before, and now you can die for him again. I'm jealous, to tell you the truth...I can't think of anything sweeter or more glorious than that. To live and die so totally in the name of Big Boss and his cause, that's true loyalty." A smile rolls across Ocelot's face; Snake can't tell if it's genuine or not but it's barely tinged with sadness, or longing, all the same. "And remember what John said: _you_ are Big Boss too, just the same as he is. We're all working together toward the same dream. We all have our parts to play."

He doesn't even know yet if he agrees with Ocelot or what to feel at all, really, besides the strange prickling tension building at his temples and behind his eye sockets and around his horn, but Snake feels his body wrap its arms around the man and closes the short distance between their lips. Ocelot doesn't flinch or draw away, but his kiss is still reserved, chaste.

"You don't think of us as the same person, though," Snake mutters against his mouth.

Ocelot pulls back to look Snake straight in the eye, blue against blue. "Listen. You and John _aren't_ the same person, even if you're both Big Boss, got it? We tried our hardest to shape you into the legend, and we did a damn good job of it if you ask me, but battlefield data can only do so much. I know where the gaps lie better than you yourself do. Trust me." A gloved thumb runs over Snake's eyepatch (1964, Groznyj Grad, interrogation session gone wrong, or--); Ocelot's other hand rests like a balm on his shoulder. "But you know what? John and I may have memories together that you don't, but our feelings for him, our loyalty--that's something special you and I share, just between the two of us, that he wouldn't understand."

Kaz's words twist through Snake's mind, his warnings that Ocelot is not to be trusted at any cost. _He'll turn on you as soon as you even think anything ill about Big Boss, slide a knife right into your back just like that_ , Kaz had hissed, _he's nothing but lies, lies, lies._

"I don't have any reason to trust you, after what you said you did," Snake breathes out, "and the things you just told me...it could all be lies. Like everything else."

Ocelot gazes at him through half-lidded eyes, lashes casting thin, spidery shadows across his cheekbones. "It's only a lie if you think it is, Snake. But remember this: I will always stand by Big Boss's side, to the end of my days." It sounds so sweetly honest it's cloying. He leans forward and they kiss again, even tenderer than before. 

"So, what will you do? Will you go out into the world and make those lies real?" Ocelot whispers into his ear, "Or do you want to forget? We could go back to how it was before, you and me both believing that you're the one and only Big Boss. Would you prefer that to be the truth?" Snake feels Ocelot's lips press another kiss to his cheek, gloved fingers soft as a sigh against the nape of his neck. "What's it going to be?"

The question seeps into him like honey dripping into every wrinkle and crevice of his brain, short-circuiting it. _Loyalty to--loyalty to your--your mission, or your beliefs, your duty or your feelings--you'll have to choose--_ Snake's pulse quickens. His head pounds.

It seems like it should be so obvious what's happening, but he can't pull himself away from Ocelot's touch or his words. This man, this stranger in his arms right now could have slipped all sorts of thoughts and inclinations so very easily into his slumbering, waiting mind during those nine long years. Could have completely shaped what he thinks and how he thinks, far, far beyond what it took to make a mere double of Big Boss. The notion should curdle the blood. Churn the gut.

It should, but it doesn't.

The answer Ocelot was pretending to look for earlier, he realizes, is this. Feelings, love, reciprocation--none of it matters. A statue has no shape or form other than what the sculptor gave it, no purpose other than what it was made for. He sees Ocelot shining, backlit with the room's buzzing fluorescence, and then sees himself: made in his creator's own ideal image of not only the greatest soldier in the world--the legend of Big Boss carved indelibly into flesh, cast from a master's mold--but also of the perfectly loyal and devoted subordinate. Perfectly fine with being trodden underfoot to prop up some myth, a grand dream spanning far beyond his comprehension; perfectly willing to roll over and gut himself open to feed the ambitions of some ravenous wolf.

A soldier has nothing else but what the mission needs him to be.

"No, this...this is how it has to be," Snake's mouth forms the words automatically without thought or prompting, but he finds that he doesn't disagree with them either way, "this is the mission that's been given to me by Big Boss." A wave of something like relief washes through Snake's skull, and for the first time in a long time--for the first time ever, maybe--he feels so unmistakably real and vibrant and _alive_. 

"You're a wonderful man, Snake." Ocelot's eyes smile in that peculiarly familiar way of his, crow's feet crinkling up in satisfaction. A hand cups Snake's face while the other brushes away the tears starting to sting at the corner of his eye. 

"I'm..."

"Look at us...where would we be without Big Boss? What are we without him?"

 


End file.
